


The laptop on the dining table

by CCAirBorn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Singing, Soft Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-02 02:57:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17879786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCAirBorn/pseuds/CCAirBorn
Summary: Reaper took a deep breath and cleared his throat. His voice was raspy and his French wasn't perfect but he remembers what he had learned as clear as day. Another life, a different life, but the same skull. He remembers everything carved into it.





	The laptop on the dining table

There is plenty of work with being a Talon agent. Among those things are stakeouts, planning, and a whole lot of waiting. Waiting for people to plan out the missions, plan out future moves. Like a game of chess, every moves can take up to hours- in their case- days, months. 

Which is why lying low has become part of the job, waiting patiently: part of a routine, and thinking too much or think nothing at all: a part of their nature. 

Doomfist’s primary strike team had a small communal safe house to occupy. No one knew when they would “Get the go”, which lead to their living space being cozy. Not fancy, just cozy enough to avoid a bloodbath between the four of them. Sombra, although part of the team never utilized Talon equipment, she was all about the money and intel and was rarely around. Reaper couldn't blame her, neither blame Moira. Even if the lab was her favourite cave, she would occasionally find resident in their provided lounge area. 

Reaper would often sleep by the fireplace or read up on whatever he could find on hand, but Widowmaker-- Amelie Lacroix found joy in nothing. If not maintaining her weapons and updating her visors she would spend the time doing nothing for days. At first, it never bothered The Ghost, but having another being in the same room sit stiller than a corpse was eering. 

Hours on end for uncountable days, until a Thursday afternoon. Lacroix sat by the unused dining table, tapping slender blue finger across a laptop. The keys would bounce up and down, barely making a click. Every so often silence would fall over the room before she went back into type. The sound was hypnotizing. 

She started doing this every day, same spot at the end of the table with her laptop on hand. Curious of the new hobby which surfaced a few weeks ago, Reaper decided to take a seat by the table. 

“Fun?” he asked from her right, flipping over whatever article he had found online. 

She didn’t answer, her mind 8 levels deep, eyes fixed on the screen. She would tend to do that, losing herself to her work just like on the field. A sentence as straight as her bullets. Reaper took it as a compliment, it was rare for The Spider to let her guard down, even allowing him to approach was new. 

The Ghost took his seat by her side every day, reading in silence as she did whatever she did. But not today. Today she did absolutely nothing. With her laptop perched happily waiting on the table, her eyes glazed with focus and reaper with a book in hand- the sound of soft clicks was missing in action. Widowmaker sat in silence with arms at her side for 3 hours, motionless. Time must pass by much faster for her. 

By hour four, her hands slowly slithered across the cheap plastic, pushing down each key with precision. Faster and faster the rhythm between letter-keys and the space-button increased. Faster and faster she was able to jot down words. Reaper tilted his head at her unusual behavior.

She was never one of unusual behavior. 

The curiosity had the better of him, without a single reply to the times he had called out for her, The ghost mustered up the care to peek at her screen. 

One word. Written millions of times over several document pages. 

“fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck Fucking gucking fucking fucking fucking fucking fucking fucking fucking fucking fucking fucking fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck guck fuck fuck fuck fuck fyck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuvm dumc fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckf jck fuck fuck fuck fuck fycl fick fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fcuk fuck fukc fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuvk fuck fick fikcy fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck”

“Widow…”

No response, she held her pace and kept typing. Maybe it was writer's block, maybe she was frustrated, maybe she was finally malfunctioning like the rest of the people on this planet. It didn't bother Reaper at first but… she kept going. The following day, and the day after that…. And the day after that…. 

“Widowmaker” reaper called out, no response. He attempted one more time, his face nudging closer for her to hear. Nothing. Unusual behavior. 

She was never one of unusual behavior.

“Amelie” Reaper attempted for the third time, and she finally stopped. “Are you okay?”

“Better than ever. Why?” 

“You're acting strange. Reportable to Talon, type of strange.”

Anyone else would have brushed the situation off as if nothing, but The Ghost wasn't anyone else. He could see the corner of her eye twitch up just a bit around a fake smile. A customer-service-smile, she was selling something he wasn't buying.

“Please do so, I live for nothing but to fulfill my mission and if that isn't enough to ease Talon’s suspicions-” 

She turned back to her laptop and reaper back to his book. They both knew the conversation had ended right there. Emotions weren't quit their strong suit, reading the situations was though. Status report? A face he had seen day in and day out for an inhumanly long time. A face altered, unrecognizable at first glimpse. Reaper had her face imprinted in the back of his skull, for two different lives now-- unsure if she remembers their last encounters. 

Reaper took a deep breath and cleared his throat. His voice was raspy and his French wasn't perfect but he remembers what he had learned as clear as day. Another life, a different life, but the same skull. He remembers everything carved into it. 

“Ca- Car rien n'est...gratuit dans la vie...”

She stopped again, head still fixed on the screen but her attention--

“La-- l'espoir est un plat bien trop vite consommé… A sauter les repas, je suis habitué…”

She started humming along to the song, nails clenching into a fist on each side of her machine. The mercenaries winded up in a duette, a quiet one, but one nonetheless. And by the end of the last verse, they sat in silence once again. 

“Amelie?” Reaper called out, like flipping a light switch, tears started spilling like waterfalls. They piled up and clumped together. Her cheeks slowly fading to a lighter blue, some warmer color about to show themselves but never really surfacing as it made her cheeks soaked.

Her lips parted to gasp after air, no. Something else completely, something she hadn't tasted for years and it made her voice crack. A lifetime of instinct crawled out of her like a broken record dropped on the ground. She fell over the table, hicksting back sobs over the laptop and into her arms. Her body barely moved but he could hear clearly how like a record she was. 

Widow wasn’t sad, she was incapable of that. Mourning wasn't a thing that existed in her head. It was just this constant urge to cry, go places, or do things she usually never do. This wasn't the first time it had happened, and it surely wasn’t the last. In fact, after it was out of her system she would return a better marksman. This was for the greater of Talon.

It's just unfortunate that Reaper was the one to assist her through this process once a year. It had become a routine, their shared moment. A shared moment for, of course, the greater of Talon. 

Reaper packed his books away and rose to hunch himself over her back, embracing her cold body over the thick sweater she wore until she stopped. Her back was carefully stroked and head gently patted, The ghost pretended to simulate breathing against her ribcage all until she finally stopped. 

“Bed?” he asked, finally breaking the silence after about an hour. 

Widow shyly nodded her head, still nested in the corner of her arm. They strolled together to her sleeping quarter where she was tucked into bed and fell asleep from the exhaustion. 

The next morning Widow didn’t even touch the laptop and it's been lying there ever since.

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to write this because I've done the same
> 
> the song is - Le Festin By Camille


End file.
